


Forward, Hopefully

by juliafied



Series: DA Drunk Writing Circle Prompt Fills [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29236569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliafied/pseuds/juliafied
Summary: Hawke and Fenris are fleeing Kirkwall, and Hawke is so very tired. So tired (and wet, and cold) that it's satisfyingly distracting her from thinking about all the terrible things that just happened. AKA Hawke doesn't deal with her emotions well, pretty much ever.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Series: DA Drunk Writing Circle Prompt Fills [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099877
Kudos: 11





	Forward, Hopefully

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for [DADWC](https://dadrunkwriting.tumblr.com/), from [luzial](https://luzial.tumblr.com/): Hidden tavern + wind + endless path, for Fenris/Hawke?

They have been on the road for three days now, and neither the wind, nor the rain, have shown signs of stopping. Hawke’s heavy wool cloak is soaked so thoroughly that it is barely even being whipped around by the gale that envelops them. She can see that Fenris is faring no better: his hair looks like it’s glued to his forehead, and she is almost certain that his teeth are chattering as he sidles up to Hawke on the trail. She turns to him with a weak smile, which breaks the constant grimace that’s she can’t seem to get off her face since they left Kirkwall. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” He has to shout over the gust that catches them both right in the face.

“Forward, hopefully,” she yells back, perhaps a bit more sharply than absolutely necessary. Her boots are caked with mud, but she trudges onward. Fenris looks at her blankly. But he follows, as he always has. 

In truth, she welcomes this - the feelings of cold and wet and disgusting are as adequate distraction from other, more depressing thoughts as any. It’s easier to think about the uncomfortable dampness in her socks than to keep remembering what might be the last time she’ll ever see her friends again. It’s simpler to focus on the way her legs feel like they’ve been set on fire from walking for hours than her complicitness in the destruction of the city that she’s grown to love in the past ten years. The pain is welcome in comparison, but to her alarm, she is growing used to it, and--

“Watch out, Hawke!” Fenris catches her sopping wet arm as she almost stumbles into a deep trench that has formed in the dirt from the rain.

She stops for a moment to stretch her ankle and winces. Maybe a roll, or even a sprain. She knows it’s deranged, but she almost grins. However, Fenris’ worried eyes as he grasps her by her shoulders stop her.

“We can’t go on like this, Hawke. You’re miserable, I’m miserable. We should find somewhere to wait out this storm.”

_It’s never going to stop, though_ , she wants to tell him, but instead she just says, “One more mile. I don’t see anywhere to shelter around here. We’ll stop at sundown, I promise.”

This doesn’t ease Fenris’ frown, but he lets go of her shoulder. “Lead on, then.”

Her ankle screams from every step that she takes and so she can’t focus on anything, really - not on the... _thing_ Orsino turned into, not on the... _other_ thing Meredith Stannard turned into. Flames, she should retire. No more fighting creepy shit. She makes a note to tell Varric.

Despite her best efforts, her gait starts to slow after a few hundred feet. Fenris gives her a pointed glance as he comes up beside her once again; she only grits her teeth and barks, “Sundown.” 

And then just as the last of the pale grey clouds above them turn dark grey in preparation for night, the most miraculous thing happens. They reach the top of a hill, and in the valley below Hawke sees a crossroads, where their tiny path merges with two larger ones. And beside the crossroads is a little inn, smoke rising merrily from its chimney.

Fenris brightens visibly, and clasps his arms around her shoulders in a cold, wet embrace, placing a kiss on her downright slimy forehead. 

“Remind me to never doubt you again,” he declares with the biggest smile she’s seen from him in days. She can tell that it’s all he can do not to skip down into the valley, but he is, of course, the most lovely and considerate man in Thedas, and so he walks around to the side of her hurt ankle, forces her arm around his neck, and grasps her firmly by the waist.

“Come on, Hawke. You’re limping. Let me help you.”

She nods mutely, and lets herself be helped. A tavern means a warm meal, a chance to dig through their packs for some drier clothes, a real bed instead of cold ground for the first time in days.

It’s also an elimination of all those useful distractions from her thoughts. 

Fenris' mood, however, has improved so drastically that his hand drifts down to lightly pinch her ass. 

“Just think,” he says, “they might even have a bathtub.”

She perks up at the thought. Perhaps a bathtub might be worth a bit of contemplation, after all. 


End file.
